Page 112 of Grave Situation

My brows draw together as I try to remember. It sounds vaguely familiar. Caimae… Caimae… The etymology is Camblish, but I don’t remember a city by that name. Not that there are any cities this far inland anyway, not since?—

“No fucking way,” I burst out. “The dead city?Why?”

Arimen breaks off midsentence and twists around in his saddle to look at me. “There’s a dead city? How does a city die? Are we going there? Will there be bodies in the streets? If there are, we need to lay them to rest. It’s not right that they’ve just been abandoned there. We’ll do the best we can to give them last rites, and then… I guess it will have to be a mass grave, since there aren’t enough of us to dig all those individual graves.Wait, maybe we should have a pyre instead, so nobody can try to zombify them.”

I stare at him with my mouth agape. Is he serious? How did he build that entire narrative from the three words I said? I turn to Jaimin with a pleading expression, but as always, he just looks amused.

“You’re the one who couldn’t keep your voice down,” he murmurs. “It’s only fair that you be the one to explain.”

Did I say him not being here would be terrible? I’m reconsidering that.

“There are no bodies in the streets,” I call irritably to Arimen. He circles his horse around to join us, much to my displeasure.

“Then why’s it called the dead city? And where is it?”

“It’s not called the dead city; it’sreferred toas that. It’s called Caimae, and it’s in the hills closer to the border between Camblin and Laisanne.”

Arimen’s youthful face creases with a frown. “I don’t remember learning about any cities there. Aren’t those hills inhospitable?”

Grudgingly, I mentally applaud whoever educated him in geography. “They are. Caimae is still there, but it hasn’t been populated in a hundred years. And before you jump to any conclusions, it’s not because everyone died. They left.”

His green eyes widen. “Why?”

“Drought. The city was built well into the hills, and it’s almost impossible to get trade goods in and out—including basic supplies like food and clothing. The only point of access for large shipments or heavy goods is the river—it runs from the city all the way to the coast. But after a few years of serious drought?—”

His gasp cuts me off. “You’re talking about the floating city.”

Jaimin must see how thin my patience is wearing, because he says gently, “It doesn’t actually float. It was built into the hills around the source lake for the river.”

“I know that, but all the books say it looks like it’s floating. It’s said that the city was built in Wasianth’s favorite place in the world, and the temple to him there is considered his home.” His eyes shine with renewed religious fervor.

Uh-oh.

I look at Jaimin and raise a brow, wondering if that’s true. He shrugs in return. It seems neither of us paid that much attention to that part of our religious studies… such as they were.

“I’m sure that’s true, but since Wasianth isn’t here to confirm it, let’s put it aside for now and focus on our priority, which is finding the champion. I doubt they’re going to be hanging out in a crumbling, abandoned city.”

“You don’t know that,” Arimen insists stubbornly. “They could be a devotee of Wasianth, there on a pilgrimage to reconnect with their faith.” From the set expression on his face, I have a suspicion that he himself is now planning to do exactly that.

I sigh. “If that’s the case, the stone will take us to them. Gods know, I can’t think of anything else out this way that we might be heading toward—except Laisanne, and if the stone made us trek cross-country to get there when we could have used the perfectly good highway or gone by ship, I’m going to grind it to dust.”

Tsking reprovingly, our acolyte chides, “You shouldn’t speak so of a holy object. I’m going to tell Coryn where we’re going, and you should take a moment to consider your words and actions.” He rides off, leaving me speechless.

Leicht, on the other hand, is laughing. A lot.

“I liked him better when he was afraid of me,” I gripe to a grinning Jaimin. At least he has the courtesy not to laugh out loud.

“No, you didn’t. You’re glad he’s finding a backbone.”

I sniff. Maybe. “If we really are heading for Caimae, I don’t know why the stone didn’t just have us find a ship. We couldhave sailed down the coast and up the river and been there by now, or very nearly. As it is, we have another, what, three weeks at this pace?”

“We might not be going there after all,” Jaimin concedes, “but…”

“Yeah. There’s really nothing else, unless the stone wants us to meet a farmer along the way.” I give it a mental nudge, hoping for some kind of clue, but it remains silent.

“Look at the bright side,” Jaimin consoles me. “I’m starting to see signs of a farm, which means we might stumble across a homestead tonight. If we’re lucky, the farmer will let us sleep in the barn.”

Yippee.

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